The Best Laid Plans
by Jupiter's Promise
Summary: Squall and Quistis come together, while Rinoa reflects. One-shot, Quall, with hints of Rinoa/Seifer. Rated for occasional cursing.


Just a little standalone one-shot from the point of view of Rinoa of all people, an interlude that's been bouncing around in my head as I finish up 'A Modest Proposal'.

Warning: Occasional swearing and insidious pro-Quall propaganda. Plus a teensy bit of Rinoa/Seifer.

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><p>It was so strange, the way they gravitated to one another, seemingly without an ounce of effort on her part, or (Hyne forbid) on his.<p>

Sure, I've been able to pick up that something happened between them a long time ago. When I came onto the scene there was this tenseness- the air was thicker there, uncomfortable.

Even that was strange now that I think back. Generally he didn't bother with that. Generally the air around him was cold and still and indifferent. But with her it was charged and electric—with her it was positively prickly.

When I think back, I guess she was the first one to make him feel something after Ellone left (other than Seifer, of course, who retained that brotherly knack for pissing him off long after the memories of the sibling-bond itself had faded). I was first with love, no question, but she beat me to it even though the thing I think she made him feel most then was uncertainty. Whatever it was that happened between them left a crack in his façade, forced him out of himself and made him look back and see what he was, if only for a brief moment.

But still, they kept their distance for a long time. And then Irvine came and dropped the orphanage bomb, and suddenly they had to look at each other again, had to see and recognize that nag of familiarity that had been in the back of their minds all along, like an enigmatic little GF waiting to be called so it could wreak havoc.

And just like that the tension dissipated, like fog burning off in the morning sun, like miasma laid to rest among the dead, and they could look at each other again. That explains it, she said, I was like your sister. And vague memories of blond hair in the surf and a blue shirt just a shade darker than her eyes convinced him it was so. That amorphous orphanage piece got shoved into practically every unaccounted-for gap in the puzzle. It seemed to explain everything rather neatly, and as far as the two of them were concerned, neatness was half the battle anyway.

On the night of the revelation they stayed up for a long time, trading snatches of memories, trying to patch together the tapestry the GFs had torn asunder. They babbled like lunatics, passing everything from the smells of Matron's gumbo to the scrape of the coarse wafers of brown soap back and forth like treasures. It was very unlike them both. Or perhaps like a them they'd forgotten. Quisty and Squally, as I teased them, and that got him right back to his irritable old self in a jiffy.

It was frustrating, being left out of that thing the rest of them had shared. I mean they were already members of SeeD together, but now on top of that they turned out to be as much of a family as any of them had ever had. Still, I took Squall's hand and held on tight and ended up getting whisked around the world.

And after the adventure ended we all settled back in Balamb, them as the pride and joy of SeeD, and me as the pride and joy of the pride and joy of SeeD. He loved me. He stretched and changed. It was unlike him, but it was beautiful to watch. I've always considered myself a revolutionary. Tear down the wall and all that. Well I did, and there was life behind it. Blinking-in-the-sunlight, voice-cracking-from-lack-of-use _life_.

He loves his job, though he grumbles about it often enough. I mean I'm pretty sure he thinks there's a special place in hell for paperwork and meetings, but he's enjoying watching his Garden grow and thrive. She's doing well herself of course, prodigy that she is. After the war they reinstated her and soon she was a senior instructor running most of the business of the academy, being groomed for Cid's position, they said from the start.

Back then they had to submit peer performance reviews of each other to Cid, who would then meet with them to discuss aspects of job performance. Of course both of them did work that was unimpeachable, so the process was little more than a droll formality that soon became a competition to see who could insert the snarkiest comment into their review, with bonus points if Cid discussed it at the review meeting.

I still remember the look on Squall's face when Cid gently put a hand on his shoulder and, utterly serious, asked if his gunblade had stopped firing bullets recently or if it had always been that way.

He was still trying to get her back for that one.

But in any case, he runs the mercenary aspect, and she runs the academy, and it works because theoretically ne'er the twain shall meet. Except she's tactically brilliant in a way that seems to astound even him sometimes, so he always does better when he's ironed his plans out with her.

And I guess that's not so surprising, but the real kicker is that he started sticking his nose in the academy. Without an ounce of effort on her part. It all began when Cid finally did announce his plan to phase out his duties and ultimately retire in the next five years. Squall actually volunteered to be on the selection committee for the new headmaster. It was the first time he had ever _consented_ to serve on a committee, let alone volunteered.

And oh, let's see, besides Commander Leonhart (brother, remember?) the other members of the committee were Xu (best friend), Cid (father-she'd-never-had) , Aki (mentor) and a bunch of other people who answered to them. There would have been less pro-Quistis sentiment at a meeting of the Trepie high council.

Applications were to be turned in to Squall's office, in person (the faint of heart need not apply). I remember going to see him that day and finding him sitting behind his desk, hands folded before him, looking more like a lion than ever. A few brave souls apparently trickled in. I even heard that a couple of Trepies submitted applications that said PICK QUISTIS in bold, red letters.

Needless to say, she got the job. Not that it was exactly enviable. She was still teaching an upper-level practicum and managing the administration.

And on top of that she convinced him to keep her listed in the SeeD agent pool, meaning he still called her up for missions at times. It didn't really take much convincing. When I suggested to him that maybe he should encourage her to let a few of the juggling balls drop out he gave me a funny look and asked what juggling had to do with anything. He really can be an idiot sometimes, that guy.

They're partners, which makes no sense because if either of them were ever away for more than a day or two at a time, Garden would cease to function. A week would drive the whole enterprise into the ground. Well, that's his dire prediction at least, though I think it is a bit too dire—I don't think he gives Xu or Nida or Cid enough credit, and Aki alone keeps the students in line. Incidentally, this is apparently a good enough reason to write off the possibility of ever taking a vacation, but not a good enough reason to get a new damn partner. Regardless, it was impractical for them to be in the field too often.

By the same token, whenever they got something really important, something Garden couldn't afford to bungle, both of them felt best just doing it themselves. At the edge of a knife, at the barrel of a gun, they trusted each other. And I trusted them. I trusted her to bring him back in one piece.

And really, nothing pleased the two of them more than going off for a day or two and coming back covered in monster guts, or playing around with their little tactical models. They initiated a number of joint projects between the academy and the mercenary, including a program to expand and diversify the training center to accommodate a variety of skill levels and targeted training regimes. For a month he talked about targeting training regimes like they were shiny-eyed moomba cubs.

And then they jointly organized a series of war games between Galbadia, Trabia, and Balamb on the anniversary of the Battle of the Gardens. I didn't see any motorcycles revving up the walls, but things got pretty hairy all the same. Balamb had the heroes, but Galbadia and Trabia both had something to prove.

They were also promoting more inter-garden athletic leagues. The orphanage gang liked soccer, which probably had something to do with the fact that it was the only game Matron had been able to afford the equipment for. The White SeeDs were good though. They could convert their deck into a soccer pitch in 10 minutes flat. And Ellone could dribble circles around just about everyone, but refused to favor even her brother's Garden.

Galbadia, as might be expected, was more interested in Ice Hockey, which it turned out Trabia was pretty darn good at too (surprise, surprise). One day, after Balamb managed to beat the Galbadian team in Galbadia(it was their second stringers, but don't tell Squall that) he was pleased enough that he took me out to the ice rink after everyone else had gone to sleep and let me show him how to skate, like I'd asked him to so many times.

So I wasn't just changing him, and she wasn't just changing him. Garden was changing him. And all three of us did it in the same way—by giving him a reason to care.

And then she really pushed the envelope. She got him completely hooked on the idea of founding a new Garden in Esthar. Just one problem—Esthar was a xenophobic nation of reclusive geniuses with a political mechanism that was purposely built smooth and without handholds from the outside. He'd need Laguna's help to pull the right strings.

I remember the look he gave her when she told him, betrayal across a tray of hot dogs. But she was right, of course, and when Laguna received a phone call from Balamb Garden he knew a miracle had happened. Needless to say, that project was well on track.

It was strange, when they were together (which was frequently since they worked in offices opposite one another and ate in the cafeteria and went to the same social events like everyone else in this big old school of kissing cousins) they seemed to hum in unison. There was a smooth sense of mutuality to the way they functioned, and it set me on edge before I could really even say why.

I guess at first I was frustrated. It wasn't that I denied the existence or the extent of my own success. But she never even had to try. She never even dared. I'd say it was a case of 'once bitten, twice shy', but it was really more like 'once bitten, forever shy'. Which, come to think of it, had been his response to the loss of Ellone too.

So while those two were fortifying their emotional foxholes, I was leading the charge, manning the front line.

And all the while they just came together like two kids sitting in a swing.

It made me feel tired. Tired of pushing and pulling. It was like trying to fight gravity—not an intensely arduous task, but an enduring one none the less. At some point I realized that no matter how many times I picked him up, I'd never turn back and find him hovering.

He didn't understand why I snapped at him. Clearly not, because when I kicked him out he spent the night on her couch and they probably stayed up into the wee hours reading magazines like kids at a sleepover, although, admittedly, the magazines likely contained more weapons. At least you know he wasn't with Irvy reading _Girl Next Door_, Selphie pointed out, always the optimist. Yet somehow Quistis and _Weapons Monthly_ seemed more dangerous.

(In all honestly, that probably wasn't how it happened at all— he always sulked terribly when I was angry with him, and just having to tolerate him in that state was probably as much punishment as she deserved.)

And she came to me later and told me things were rough at work, and that he'd come around, and to give him another chance if I could stand to. Both of them just assumed he'd done something to deserve my irritation. They both had a tendency to delegate emotional matters to me, after all.

They'd taken to heading over to happy hour at The Sand Bar in Dollet on Mondays (it was very unlike them), having a beer and concocting sadistic exams for her students. I came with them the first few times, but I don't really see the point of going out if you're just going to continue the same conversations you were having in the office. For such practical people they didn't seem to know the meaning of six-pack in the fridge.

I once asked her why they didn't just go to The Fire Tavern in Balamb. Sure, it could get rowdy in there when the cadets packed in, but at least Quistis' drinks were always free. A scattering of hopeful Trepies in the crowd saw to that.

Trust me, they aren't free, she replied with a laugh, and besides, who wants to get to know their students that way?

You wanted to get to know Squall even when he was your student.

She laughed again, conceding into the empty bottle she was spinning between her thumbs.

As long as I've known him, Squall's always been the exception to everything, she explained, smiling fondly in the direction of the man standing up at the bar waiting (impatiently) for their drinks. It was the kind of glance Trepies spend their nights dreaming of and their classes daydreaming of, and he was standardly oblivious.

Later that night, I remember her remarking over the amber lip of a long-necked bottle that all of them had their own way of dealing with their screwed up past and screwed up line of work (her word choice got a lot more _choice_ after the second bottle was half empty). Irvine and Seifer became cocky bastards (yep, her words), Zell and Selphie became rabid optimists, and she and Squall became workaholic emotional invalids. Whether you choose to smirk, irk, or work, it beats being honest with yourself any day, she'd said with a wry smile. (Clever bitch…)

Here's to hiding with dignity. He clinked his bottle against hers.

Laguna and Ellone and Kiros and Ward actually came to visit that Christmas. Squall was already mad at his father because word had gotten out (among the things Laguna is incapable of keeping: grudges, straight faces, and secrets) that the President thought Angelo needed a friend and was planning on bringing us a puppy.

Honestly, I wish Squall wasn't so hard on his father. Sure, Laguna wasn't always there, but anyone can see he's put his whole heart behind trying to have a relationship with his son now. That's more than I can say about certain Galbadian generals with a lot more to make up for…

Still, in spite of being in the proverbial doghouse (haha) Laguna gave me the big grin I'd never pried out of his son the moment I laid eyes on him. He told me I looked like my mother. You too, son, he said, turning to Squall, er…well…not like her mother, like your mother…nervous laugh, leg cramp.

I didn't know you knew my mother, I told him.

Oh, he knew her alright, Selphie replied.

Laguna protested (Gee El, did you have to show them everything?) cheeks burning crimson. I'd forgotten they'd been sent back to experience Laguna's life. Did that mean Squall had…_known_ my mother in that way?

Don't worry, nothing happened, Laguna said with a wink. Your mom was a star, but there really wasn't anyone else for me but Raine. No matter what either of us did or didn't do, that much was inevitable.

Right, I agreed. Some things are just meant to be, after all. That same thought that had once comforted me had a tendency to set me on edge in those days.

Incidentally, I never did learn what happened to that puppy…

Work together on something, Selphie advised, that's the way to rekindle the spark. Unfortunately, the brilliant project I hit on was not to his taste. That bastard can rot in hell for all I care, he said, when I suggested we work together to bring Seifer back to Garden, at least as a contract worker.

He's just being stubborn, keep pushing, said Selphie.

You don't understand, said Quistis, shaking her head. The history between them is too raw. Seifer tortured Squall and left him to die in prison. It's not stubbornness. There are some things that just can't be forgiven.

To this day I'm not sure if she was talking about Squall just then, or herself.

So Squall and I _disagreed strongly_ over that, and eventually I had to go out and visit Seifer on my own because otherwise it would be like giving up, which Seifer understood perfectly when I explained it to _him_. He assured me there was no way in hell he was signing back on with Garden, but agreed to visit sometime. I made him promise to show me how to catch a Balamb fish since he's the master angler these days.

Quistis is right— he is a cocky bastard, but at least that's easier to have a conversation with. And even though he grew up with them he's the only other one that doesn't quite fit in with the rest like me.

I forgot how charming you can be when you aren't with Ultimecia.

I forgot how charming you can be when you aren't with puberty-boy.

He has never forgotten his possession. They think because he's never apologized or tried to explain his actions he has, but if they'd talk to him for five minutes they'd know it wasn't so. Still, he can't acknowledge what she's made him do without acknowledging what he's done, and he's not ready for that, which I can understand because neither of us are.

He's decided to live his life without regrets— with conviction and a can-do, fuck-you attitude, and just being with him I can feel the layers of residual guilt lifting from my shoulders.

When I came back to a scowling lion, I gave that attitude of Seifer's a try. He reacted alright, but it didn't snap him out of his funk like I'd hoped it might. There's nothing like coming in ready for a shouting match, having rehearsed your points and your concessions, ready to work it out and have it done with, and being halted by the calm, continuous buffeting of icy waves.

I'd come for a battle and run into a closed door, charged for glory and won only silence.

You'd think the temperature throughout the Garden had permanently dipped a few degrees, the way everyone was catching on to the Commander's relapse. The pattern was standard. They looked at him, glancing away quickly before his petrifying gaze could fall on them, and then immediately turned to me. Why aren't you doing something about this, they all asked silently.

Quistis did them one better. She asked out loud.

She caught up with me one day while I was walking Angelo, chatting idly while she worked up the courage to ask. I know it doesn't sound much like Quistis, but I swear to Hyne she like a cadet in the Headmaster's office. I can still picture her twisting and untwisting those chains she wears at her hips around her thumbs (When she'd realized what she was doing, she'd crossed her arms tight as a straightjacket so they'd fidget no more).

Most people don't know how to deal with me when I'm in one of my rare, truly foul moods (Hyne knows daddy didn't) but I didn't see any reason for Quistis to be so ill at ease. It was…irritating. It was none of her business what was going on between Squall and I. What reason did she have to be agitated, what right?

I asked her.

She blinked, but didn't resume her fidgeting, which met with my grudging approval.

There are things that I can't do. Places I can't go…she trailed off, and her eyes became distant.

She never elaborated.

So neither of us left that encounter satisfied. She couldn't find the words, not for me or for herself. And apparently not for him either, or this whole thing might have been wrapped up a lot more painlessly.

Anything's possible, I guess…

Still, before she even knew what it was, Quistis seemed to have enough sense to realize that that elusive amalgamation of colleague-partner-kindred spirit-brother-best friend who could never, ever be more was nonetheless far too precious to lose. Yes, he could never become more, but the possibility that he might become less must then be equally out of the question. It was only fair. Her self-restraint had surely earned her that much at least.

In any case, the stakes were high enough to give her vertigo, and I was the stability, the solid ground. I was the one who had melted those icy waters; I was the one whose presence put everyone at ease, dependable as Selphie's smile and Zell's left hook.

Squall and I have always been alike in that way. People would meet us and think they had us all figured out. Not that I really blame them too much, because we thought we had each other figured out too. These days I'm smart enough to know that the only one I ever really figured out was Angelo, and I still may be giving myself too much credit.

So just to screw with the universe's sense of the inevitable, that Monday, Squall and I both did something unusual. I went back to see Seifer, and Squall had too much to drink.

We were each quite unaware of the other's transgression of normalcy. In my defense, deviating too radically from routine was quite unheard of for the military-precise Commander, and on a _Monday _of all days. In his, he was being stubborn and childish and never in his wildest dreams imagined it would push me towards _Seifer_.

I still wonder how he managed to get the drinks down in the first place, slipping them one by one past her and past himself. Maybe they were both just too eager for a night to pass without mention of the 'situation'. Maybe each was just relieved the other was coming along for their traditional night of camaraderie as though nothing was wrong. In any case, the drinks and the hours slipped by, unnoticed.

Meanwhile, I was staring out at the ocean, trying to figure out how to confess to Seifer of all people that something was wrong in my life. He'd come at my call, landing his boat in Balamb harbor and joining me at the end of an abandoned pier. Though he'd come as soon as he could, it was already dusk, and the gulls were calling imploringly as they winged across the setting sun.

Fortunately for me, he had a shrewd way of discerning what lay beneath the surface of people, which made him a surprisingly good confidant (and, incidentally, a stupendous bully).

You've been to see me twice in the space of a week, so you must be on the outs with puberty boy, eh?

Taboo thoughts ran across the edges of my mind and were rejected. What Squall and I had was the fairytale. It was the legend, the gleaming pinnacle, and shadows just didn't become it. But the sun had reached its zenith and as it traced its descent the shadows emerged all the same.

Seifer knew I couldn't speak, so he spoke for me. He offered measured guesses, and when he was right I confirmed, until with a final silent, jerking nod, the story had been completely extracted.

I came back to Balamb that night with a million new-born thoughts swirling in my head, determined to have a serious talk with Squall.

But Squall wasn't back when I returned, and it was hours later when the door to our apartment shot open and he stumbled in, arm thrown over Quistis' shoulder for support.

She'd brought him back safe, as always.

Sorry about this, I didn't mean to let him have so much, she explained. The haze in his usually sharp steel gaze met the clarity in mine. And I resolved myself.

I would give him the chance to find the clarity I had found. I would force them, and above all her, to acknowledge that they were not helpless in regards to him. I would give my thoughts the space they needed to grow and mature. And after all that was said and done, our eyes would meet again on equal terms.

Angelo and I left Balamb that evening, just as the day-shift conductors were yawning their eagerness to be done for the day and the night-shift ones were stretching in anticipation of their night's beginning. Squall was asleep, a handwritten note awaiting him when he awoke with a glass of water beside it for the pounding headache the morning would no doubt also bring.

He would be alright. He had friends and family all around him, and love— so much more love than he knew. He would learn. I wasn't giving him a choice.

And as for me, I ended up at Fisherman's Horizon, because there's really nowhere else to go if you want to rebuild your life (or, of course, any kind of heavy machinery…) and because a phoenix in need of healing can't do much better than to seek out fire.

It was three years before I saw him again, and the years were fruitful for us both. I learned to have conversations with Fujin and Squall learned to have them with Selphie. I also learned that Seifer had dreams of reviving Matron's orphanage; that even though he scorned approval, he still longed to prove himself.

Squall learned…well, he apparently learned a lot about Quistis, especially in the year after I left when he could hardly stand to be civil to anyone else. Most of the things he knows about her I'll never know, but one thing I know he figured out as he sifted through his memories trying to put the pieces back together was that she'd loved him.

Then there was a brief period where he was sure that she had moved on (he was the only person in Garden she ever successfully convinced of this, other than herself, of course). And then, at some point, something changed.

Knowing them it was the little things that did it. Knowing them, there was no grand narrative of sorceress and knight. After all, that was always more Seifer's thing, yes, and mine.

Knowing them, it began with staying over late taking care of Garden business and ended with both of them realizing they didn't want the other to leave, but that there was indeed only a finite amount of work that two people could complete in one night.

In short, from what I gathered, they made a noble effort that resulted in several weeks of falling asleep together on one couch or another because there was something less pre-meditated about a couch. Honestly, it could happen to anyone. Sometimes you fell asleep on a couch with Zell, or Dr. Kadowaki, or NORG (Hyne rest his enormous soul) and other times you fell asleep on a couch with Quistis, right?

They were discreet- unbelievably so- and no one might have known had Selphie not detected the distinct smell of raspberries in his hair one morning. And while there is nothing specifically incriminating about raspberries (as I later explained to him) they do contrast pretty dramatically with Garden Shampoo, which is what he'd used since the age of six (for what the garden-issue shampoo is, it has a very misleading name and should more rightly be called factory shampoo, or possibly thick water- while unconfirmed, it seems likely that it is produced by running blobras through a sausage press).

Oh, and did I mention that as long as Squall has been using Garden shampoo Quistis has eschewed it for the raspberry stuff you can only buy in Deling City? It wasn't proof, but it was a nail in the coffin of secrecy, and Selphie's been known to drive railroad stakes into that coffin without batting an eyelash.

One thing led to another, and soon the secret was out. Of course I still knew nothing of what had happened. How they kept Selphie's texts, emails, and website posts at bay, I'll never know, but before the balmy June day when he came to tell me himself, I had no idea.

Honestly, I found it somewhat cute that he felt the need to come let me know, though Seifer scoffed and groused that he really shouldn't have bothered. After all, he pointed out, we were _way_ past the 'raspberry' stage at that point, and he didn't give a shit one way or another if puberty-boy knew about it.

I guess it's reassuring to know that the best-laid plans of lions fare little better than those of mice and men—that they know about as much about what they want as the rest of us. Squall knows a thing or two about that anyway, having spent his life dreaming of solitude and then waking up in the morning to find more eyes on him with each passing day.

These days, I suspect, he dreams of her, and when he wakes up she's there, and the peace that that brings him is something better than solitude. Maybe he's finally come to terms with the fact that his life has rarely imitated his dreams. But maybe having things the other way around isn't so bad after all.

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><p>Thanks for reading.<p>

-JP


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